Page 24 of Teddy Bear

An icy wave runs through my body, while my cheeks burn at the same time. I feel ashamed and miserable, exposed and ridiculous. I can't believe I actually said that.

I take another big gulp of wine, looking at the spot on the floor.

- It is normal for victims to blame themselves. That's one of the horrible parts of PTSD, but I promise you, Lizzie, it's not your fault.

I try to swallow the lump stuck in my throat, but I can't. I struggle hard with the onslaught of tears that threaten to fill my eyes.

I try to remain completely calm and obedient.

- I can see that it's hard for you to talk about this, and that's okay. However, in order to face and process emotions, we have to somehow get them out. It doesn't necessarily have to be through speech.

Danny stands up, striding across the room with light and dignified movements as I fight the shock of adrenaline, suffering, and pure, one hundred percent fascination with this man.

After this, all I want to do is get down on my knees and give myself completely to him. He is the peace, the refuge, the renewed life that I seek, and I owe him all my loyalty and love.

To me, he is the sky, the endless horizon that opens the dark gates within which I have been imprisoned for too long, and I want to be unreservedly his, free and whole - he sees me as I really am.

He moves the massive needle on the record player and plays one of the old rock records.

-Do you want to dance?

He turns to me and looks at me without blinking. I have the impression that this is not a question, but an order, and that:

"for me"

is in the gap of air that is becoming too dense and poisoned by the smell of wine and our conversation.

I get up and approach the record player, listening carefully to the light notes.

It's been months since I last danced.

Terrible fear running down my spine, but also that burning feeling in the bottom of my stomach that I would feel before every performance - it didn't matter if it was in front of a full hall or a local group of guys from the street - that fervor that inexplicably guided my every move and made me keep going, always pushing myself beyond every possible limit.

I nod my head and tap my feet as I ease into the rhythm. I want to feel the song first; I want it to take over me completely, like a strong rapture, so that I can adjust my body to its notes.

Because now, I'm just an instrument; my body is a marionette through which music and rhythm flow. I'm movement and sound in human form - and then, I'm the freest I'll ever be.

I bend down to the floor, and then I'm ready to start. Music flows through my veins and pores, through my muscles and body - I am light and relaxed - dedicated and liberated - while in the silence of the house on the lake, I dance for the man I am madly in love with.

I've never been this free.

I've never been this happy.

After a year had passed, it was time for my father to return home.

I greeted the news with a chill that ran through the cracks in my bones - in those places inside my body where the invisible fractures were, a strong, unquenchable, and unrelenting fear still flowed.

I was afraid of his return.

I didn't want to see the grotesque mask of the abyss itself instead of his face, nor his pale bony hands hanging from a dead body like a scarecrow.

Come to think of it, I never wanted to see him again. My father, the man I once knew, now disguised as a skeleton from my nightmares, an expressionless mask of nothing that never stopped haunting me with its dead voice - this is all your fault.

I was tense to the limit, and I tried very hard to hide it. I didn't tell anyone about it, not even Danny. I had the impression that it was somehow treacherous and wrong.

What kind of daughter doesn't want her father to come home?

Well, maybe the one that father tried to burn alive.